Chapter 32

Fashion'd so slenderly,

Young, and so fair!

 

Miss Dawson's words of warning ringing in his ears, Ainsley made his way back to town, very aware of the social call he and Margaret were expected to make to the manor later that day. He had yet to recover from the shock of learning Josephine's true parentage and his mind was awash with possible motives for killing the poor girl. It was possible Mrs. Lloyd, consumed with hatred and anger at her husband's infidelity, killed the child as revenge. Possible, but highly unlikely as someone cunning enough to perpetrate such a crime would not kill the object of the anger first. No, Ainsley thought, Mrs. Lloyd would keep her husband alive so he could live through the pain of losing a child, just as she had with all those pregnancies lost thanks to him and his wandering eye. If Mrs. Lloyd had killed Josephine, why did she kill her husband first? Unless Walter had died of natural causes, pneumonia as Dr. Bennett said, and Mrs. Lloyd was no longer interested in caring for the girl who was not her own.

Ainsley reached the Inn by late afternoon, the sun hidden behind a veiled sky reminding everyone that winter loomed. Margaret was in a sour mood when he went to her room.

“Good, you're here ...finally.” she said, her voice laced with indignation.

Ainsley stared after her for a moment, surprised at the tone of her voice and the quick, choppy movements she made as she went around the room. Her trunk took up the end of the bed and her valise was sitting, mouth wide open with a few of her belongings surrounding it. “Are you packing?” he asked, suddenly realizing her intentions. “Margaret, no, we have to call at the manor.”

She laughed but did not waiver from her work. “You have to call at the manor. I have to try to catch a train.” She wiggled her fingers at him and nearly snarled as she spoke.

“Train?”

“Jonas left! Good god Peter, you treat him like a pebble in your shoe and then you are surprised when he leaves?”

“We had a fight. We always fight, I didn't think he would leave.”

Margaret raised her hand to her forehead, covering her eyes as she closed them, and regulating her breathing while she spoke. “I couldn't convince him to stay.” There was a depression in her voice, a hopeless resignation that seemed to haunt her still.

Ainsley had been trying to ignore their apparent attachment, perhaps hoping Margaret would grow out of it and move on. No doubt Jonas was the first man to see her as anything but a child. “I don't think Father would approve of this attachment you are forming for Jonas. Quite frankly I cannot say I approve of it myself.”

“He has been your dearest friend for years--”

“Exactly! My friend! I would know if he was not a good match for you.”

“This has nothing to do with whether he is a good match. I am angry because you have wronged him just like you wrong me.”

He had done wrong by Jonas. He sought his help with Dr. Bennett but when the stress mounted he lashed out at his friend who was trying to help him. He would run after Jonas if he could, if he knew his friend was not already half way to London. As much as he wanted to go to Jonas, he needed to go to Lillian first. He would have to deal with Jonas, apologize later. If Lillian died, Ainsley would never forgive himself.

Ainsley saw his sister, near tears, on the opposite side of the bed. She was looking at him, like she used to when they were children and he'd abandoned her game to chase down their older brother. She was always left behind, either because she was the youngest or because she was a girl. It must be hard, Ainsley thought, chasing after him, even now in their adult life.

His voice softened and he reached out a hand to stop her from packing her things. “How have I wronged you?” She pulled her hand away and did not meet his eyes.

Quietly, she folded one of her dresses into the trunk at the foot of her bed. “You are so focused Peter.” Margaret bit her lower lip and gathered a pair of slippers which had been lying beside the trunk. “Something horrible happened and you have been so focused on Lillian that you never asked what happened to make me leave Tunbridge Wells.”

“Margaret, I meant to.”

Margaret lifted her head, revealing glistening blue eyes. “But you didn't.”

A somber silence hushed the room and the siblings shifted uncomfortably. Ainsley raked his hand through his hair and turned. A cushioned chair sat at the far end of the room and he slid into it. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head up with his hands while he looked at the floor, studying the grains of the wood that made up the floor boards.

“Jonas told me something happened. He wouldn't say what. Said he was sworn to secrecy but I think I have a right to know.”

Margaret swallowed hard. She abandoned her trunk and sat on the edge of the quilt with a look of defeat. “Those women in the hat shop--”

“What women?”

“Delilah Robbins. She was horrible, Peter. She said Mother was having an affair. I had to see for myself.” Margaret avoided his gaze then. She glanced around the room without direction. She was distracted, terribly so. “I was worried there was truth to the rumours. I must have known somewhere inside me...I must have thought they were true.”

“Margaret.”

“The thought never crossed your mind... that the rumours are true and Mother is committing infidelity?” Margaret let out a deep breath. “I know you trust Jonas so I tracked him down and I begged him to take me to the country house. I didn't have the gumption to go on my own.”

“I can't believe he agreed. His position at the university--”

“He was let go. He confessed as much to me.”

“Oh good god...why didn't he say something to me?” That would explain how sensitive he was when the subject of money came up. He must be worried as Ainsley would be if the roles were reversed. Ainsley stopped his own thoughts, nay worse. Jonas had no family fortune to fall back on as Ainsley did.

“Perhaps he thought you would not understand,” Margaret explained.

Ainsley nodded, aware of what an ass he had been that morning and other times regarding Jonas's lack of financial means.

“We took the coach the next day and arrived that evening,”

“And you did not tell Father,” Ainsley reminded her.

“I thought to leave a note but I knew he'd be furious.”

“No doubt all society is rife with rumours about your impropriety. Jonas has a reputation that even I can't rival.”

“So now he and I are perfectly matched,” she answered defiantly. Suddenly, she lost her resolve and the tone of her voice softened. “I am well aware of the damage I have done to my reputation, but I doubt it will matter very much once word of what I saw reaches London.”

“Word of what exactly?”

“I saw them; Mother and her lover...” she hesitated not wanting to say it out loud, “naked in the parlour.” Her eyes became glossy as she spoke and finally turned away. Ainsley watched as she wiped away her tears and that is when he knew she was telling the truth. “When Jonas and I arrived, we surprised them. They had the entire house to themselves and were not expecting anyone. You have to believe me. I could not bear it if you did not believe me.”

Ainsley nodded, almost against his will. “I believe you.” It was no secret their parents' marriage was greatly strained though it had never occurred to Ainsley that there was any truth to the rumours. He could scarcely see his mother capable of such a thing. She was so sweet, so passive. Since he was a child Ainsley saw her as the gentle one, the one he could always turn to for any emotional need. She held her place in society with scarcely any effort and never lost her temper like their father. If Ainsley had been asked he would have admitted he loved his mother more than his father, who always seemed vile, cruel and heartless. “I don't want to but... I believe you.”

If their mother was having an affair no doubt she had good reason. The man she married was a brute, a rich one, but a brute nonetheless. She endured his constant criticism and unpredictable temper. She had more kindness and patience in her pinky finger then Lord Marshall had in his entire existence. It was no wonder Ainsley often sided with his mother, and he reasoned, he would side with her once more. If she was having an affair it is their father that drove her to do it.

“How long?” Ainsley asked, the impact of this truth hitting him slowly. He imagined this would not only impact his family and the future marriage of his parents but no doubt their position amongst the other socialites was in peril. He cared little for himself but Margaret, she would be tarnished for all eternity once this scandal is revealed.

“I don't know how long. At breakfast, she pretended like nothing happened and laughed at me.” The pain of the exchanged appeared fresh in Margaret's eyes as she spoke. Her chin quivered and she turned from Ainsley to hide her pain. She began packing once more, more furiously than before, her movements accenting her anger. “She was not the mother I remember at all. She's changed. I don't know who she is anymore.”

Ainsley leaned forward and ran his hands over his face, as if trying to rub the feeling of sadness that overcame him while Margaret spoke. Once he had wished his parents would separate, become officially estranged as a few ill-matched married couples had done before. Never had he imagined a divorce, and such a scandal that would bring. Not only were they facing imminent divorce, their family would be ostracized, shunned and tainted for many years. The Marshall name would be synonymous with illicit affairs, lustful tendencies and infidelity. The impact would be far reaching. The entire family would be marked with a scarlet letter, and according to Ainsley, it was all his father's fault.

“I'll kill him!” Ainsley jumped from his chair, his hands bound in tight fists at his side. He walked the length of the room, his face twisted in rage.

“Mother's lover?”

“No, Father! He drove her to do this. He made our lives miserable. He made her life miserable. It is his fault and I will not listen to anyone who says otherwise.” Ainsley paused briefly at the fireplace mantel and retrieved his flask from his inside pocket. Without thinking of Margaret's presence he took a long gulp which only soothed his temper momentarily.

“Peter, be reasonable! It is not Father's fault. He had no more control over Mother than any of us.”

“He made her this way. He brought this upon himself and we are all caught in the middle. Do you have any idea what kind of disaster this means for all of us? Margaret, anyone you wish to marry will not wish to marry you.” Ainsley pounded his fist on the mantel shelf, causing the trinkets on display to shutter from the impact. “I cannot blame Mother. She is just as much a victim as you and I.”

“You did not see her, not as I did. She is not who she appears to be. She is much changed.” Margaret slipped onto the edge of the bed. Clearly the heated and emotional exchange had drained her. Ainsley watched her crying silently, unaware of her audience.

He knew things had never been good between his parents. He had once suspected his father of harbouring a mistress but never did he dream his mother capable of such an act. The reality of it, the confirmation from Margaret that the rumours were true was almost too much to bear. Ainsley found himself walking to Margaret and embracing her. She cried tears of hopelessness in to his shoulder as he held her.

“Our family is broken. It will never be the same now,” she said through muffled sobs.

Ainsley tried to hush her gently, rubbing her back as he held her. “Perhaps it was never whole to begin with.”

They held each other for some time, Margaret crying and Ainsley deep in thoughts laced with both anger and distress, not sure which parent deserved which emotion. Eventually Margaret pulled away and wiped tears that had gathered on her cheeks and eyes.

“The day is getting late,” Ainsley said. “We are expected for tea.”

“Peter, I cannot go to tea feeling as I do. How could you expect me to sit and be cordial at such a time?”

“There is nothing you or I can do about that. Lillian has been through far worse and I must help her.”

Margaret opened her mouth as if to rebuke but she quickly closed it. She began packing again. “I don't care about the Lloyd's. Really Peter, I don't understand why you have dragged me into this. I have a mind to leave this instant, escort or no escort.”

“And where will you go? London? Tunbridge Wells?”

Margaret stared at him, unable or unwilling to reply.

Raking his hand through his hair, Ainsley turned from her and walked to the window. He pulled back the curtain and looked to the street below. “They are going to kill her, Margaret. I simply could not live with myself if that happened.”

When he turned back he saw Margaret paused, mid-motion while folding a chemise. She laid the article of clothing on the top of the bed, unfolded and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again their eyes met. “Nor could I.”